Rum
by Culumacilinte
Summary: Elizabeth has a rum fixation. Reflections on that- from her life in Port Royal to the Island.


Rum

Disclaimer: No- I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, or unfortunately, any of the characters contained therein. coughJackSparrowcoughhack

A/N: The idea for this actually came when I was sorting though all my writings, and found the very first fic I ever wrote. It's utter crap, a Jack/Elizabeth island fic- pretty much PWP, but terribly written, and with no idea of what good smut is like. However, as I moved to discard it, the thought struck me that I might have hit on a good idea there. The idea that Elizabeth might have a rum fixation of sorts was intriguing. And so, here we are- enjoy yourselves, please. Oh, and reviews are most welcome.

Rum, Elizabeth decided, was a vile drink. Abhorrent, disgusting, contemptible, despicable, and every other word she and her well-educated vocabulary could think of. It was the drink of the depraved; of pirates and thieves and smugglers and every sort of criminal. And worst of all, she loved it. She loved the amber which flamed into sudden life at sunset, she loved the burn of the liquor as it ran down her throat, she loved how it set her free.

Elizabeth had always been adamant in her opinion of drunks. Being the governor's daughter that she was, she could look disparagingly at the drunks in the streets without being beaten up for it. Her father never drank much, nor did anyone she knew, so her only experience with inebriation was the bawdy sailing-shanties that issued from pubs at night, and the grumbling of sailors suffering from hangovers in the morning.

Then she met Jack Sparrow. Seething with fury though she had been when he had caught her 'round the throat and made her outfit him with his "effects", she couldn't help but notice the scent of rum that seemed to soak the air around him. It seemed exotic to her then, as the pirate was obviously in full control of himself, not at all like the shambling drunkards in the streets. And although she told herself that he was just a pirate, that smell and the look he shot her from beneath painted lids as she roughly fastened his sword on were… well, intriguing.

"Easy with the goods now, darlin'" Clearly a lewd sentiment, and presumptuous at that, but there was something about the way he said it… and then there was the rum. Even after he had gone, her senses were addled with it, and for the next few weeks, her dreams were saturated with the scent of rum.

And then, she was marooned on the bloody island with none other than Captain Jack Sparrow. It seemed romantic, did it not, to be marooned by pirates on a deserted island with the dashing pirate captain? Once, this would have enchanted Elizabeth; set her mind afire with possibilities, but now, she was thoroughly irritated with her situation. She was on an island less than a mile wide, with an extremely randy pirate, wearing nothing but her shift. Oh yes, and she was going to die without ever having kissed Will, or even had a proper talk with him about them. She was seething quietly to herself as Jack started to saunter off. With nothing else to do, she followed, and began to vent her spleen on him.

If he was hoping to appease her with his offering of rum, she had thought, he was dead wrong. There was no way she, Elizabeth Swann, was going to lower herself to the point where she was sitting half naked on some beach drinking rum with a pirate. However, as she sat, brooding, the thought sprang unbidden to her mind what an adventure this could be, if she let it. And once that thought took coherent form in her mind, it refused to go away. And so, she uncorked the bottle Jack had tossed her and took a sip. She choked. The liquor stung bitterly in her throat, but she gulped down her mouthful and started coughing. When Jack clapped her on the back she shot him an acid look and told him coolly that she did not require his assistance, thank you very much.

An hour or so later, she had changed her mind. The rum no longer made her cough, and she did not mind Jack catching her as she stumbled over her own feet. The taste of rum was one utterly different than anything else she had ever tasted, exotic and romantic- the taste spoke of adventure on the high seas, with pirates and corsairs and mermaids. Liquid fire, it seemed, that set her afire without burning her. It coursed through her veins, sending spots of high colour to her cheeks, and a reckless light to her eyes. She danced through the sand, her voice ringing in the heavy night air. Finally she felt free, her corset had been cut loose and she danced and sang and drank without inhibition.

Jack shot her a look as she danced through the sand, laughing uproariously at nothing at all, as if to say _You sure you want to drink all that, love?_ But Elizabeth merely shrugged and flashed an dazzling grin at him. If she regretted it in the morning, well, it wasn't morning yet, so she didn't particularly care. Filtered through the haze of rum in her blood, the world looked good. And now she could admit to herself, as the proper Elizabeth never could, that she really had always been captivated by stories of pirates and mermaids and secret caches of gold and rum (always rum- for that was the gold of the Caribbean, was it not?). She was satisfied- her experience with the liquor of those who followed a code outside the law was even better than what she had always imagined. And as far as the next morning? Well, after all, or so she had gathered from the grumblings of bleary sailors working at the docks, there was only on way to get rid of a hangover- drink some more. And, she knew this much, she certainly wouldn't object to that.


End file.
